Sebastian’s decrepit little face was like a hollow object that people pumped their desires into, inflating it into some bloated resemblance. He loved it too, running around with his valve primed, ready to be filled up by fatuous gasbags and high floating lowlives. It was an effective symbiosis of defective personalities, each party weighed and lifted of their excess and Sebastian desperately trying to absorb some character. Poor little guy, irradiating himself in the glow of those around him, face contorted with the effort, and taking on such poisons. One day he will pop, engorged on other people’s lives.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.